


Off The Cuff

by Owlship



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Intimacy Via Kinky Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Fisting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 03:36:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5852503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owlship/pseuds/Owlship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's taken them a while to work up to this. Not, strictly speaking, the physical part- Furiosa knows her body is resilient, has done more with less time in the past, sometimes even enjoys the burn of too-much-too-fast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off The Cuff

**Author's Note:**

> .......I can't even blame this on a prompt, dammit. Have some filth.
> 
> Also I'm marking this as a one-shot but yeah, there's probably going to be a part two eventually.

It's taken them a while to work up to this. Not, strictly speaking, the physical part- Furiosa knows her body is resilient, has done more with less time in the past, sometimes even enjoys the burn of too-much-too-fast.

Max tries to be so gentle with her, is so reluctant to do anything to her that could mean real harm, that he sometimes can't look past his own fears to see that she's asking for something she wants. Just convincing him to fuck her at all had taken coaxing, although that might have had something to do with the fact that she was still healing from some minor shrapnel to the thigh at the time.

But they're here now, Furiosa with her trousers discarded in a heap at the foot of the bed, Max with his hands so well scrubbed and trimmed she can't see any trace of the grease and sand that habitually collects in the creases of him.

She likes his hands, generally. When he's not caught up in his head they're steady, assured on the grip of a gun or the handle of a wrench or the roots of a seedling. They're bigger than her flesh one is, broader, tanned dark and scarred from living out on the sands. She likes that for all their roughness they're clever, twisting together wires for a booby trap or teasing reactions out of her, fidgeting into shapes he haltingly explained could be used instead of words.

There's a lot that can be done with a set of hands like that. They don't fight each other to really hurt, not anymore, but Furiosa knows how his hands feel gripping bruises into her skin, has seen the damage he can leave behind when he's thrumming and twitching with the need to cause pain.

In the quiet of their room now he's steady, mouth already bringing her off once, slower than she normally likes, two of his coarse calloused fingers pressing and stroking as he fucks her with them. There's no hint of danger in this, just the sort of slow lazy pleasure she never expected to like.

“You sure?” Max asks, “I could just...” He would be happy to stay with his mouth working at her, lapping her up like he was addicted to the taste, like her wetness was going to sustain him longer than water. It's normally something she doesn't at all object to, revels in having this brutally rough man working so sweetly to be good for her.

“Get on with it,” Furiosa replies, shimmies her hips a little in encouragement. “I want to feel you.”

He presses a sloppy kiss to her opening between his fingers and she groans, partly because it feels good and partly because he's not doing as she's asked. Then he moves his mouth away, eyes flicking between her face and her cunt, and finally slips a third finger inside.

She sighs at it, clenches down around his fingers because together they're about the width of his cock, a very nice feeling if not at all the stretch she's looking for. Max curls his fingers and searches for her g-spot, the pads of his fingers rough and enticing, and ordinarily if she was being fingered just for the sake of it she would encourage him, but right now she has a _goal_.

“No,” Furiosa says, and he stills instantly, eyes rocketing up to her face. “That's not what I asked you for.”

He relaxes, alarm slipping away with a huffed breath of mock affront. Max deliberately, eyes staring right into hers with a show of his rare mischievousness that still surprises her, rubs against the sensitive front patch of her again. With how well he's learned her body it feels good, of course it does, but he's still not following her directions.

“Max,” she warns, kicking out lightly with the foot she has hooked over his shoulder in rebuke. He smirks a little before easing off the pressure on her g-spot, instead spreading his fingertips apart so they're not quite as tightly bunched together as he moves them in and out. It's starting to stretch her, now, the first hints of fullness to come, and Furiosa hums deeply, pleased.

“There,” she says encouragingly, pushing her hips down against his hand. He rocks his fingers in and out of her cunt, easy with how wet she is, how eager she is for it. The friction of his skin against her walls is captivating, maddening as she melts against the slight crookedness of fingers that have been broken and set poorly dragging and pumping in a smooth regular rhythm.

“Another, now,” Furiosa says after she's been fucked open on his fingers for a time, when she's sure that he believes she can take it.

Max hums, and ducks his head to lick a stripe from her dripping entrance up to her clit, and she'd reprimand him again but it wasn't all a tease because now his smallest finger has slipped in to join the others. She sighs in pleasure, revels in the feeling of his thick knobby knuckles rubbing up against her opening as he works further inside, until she's splayed open on his hand to where fingers meet palm.

Even with his fingers held tightly together taking four of them a stretch, warm and delicious, like warming up for a friendly spar but with the promise of orgasms. He twists his hand and Furiosa moans at the way the shape changes, how the wide span of his knuckles slips just that tiny bit further inside, stretches her just that bit more, stopped only by the root of his thumb.

“Okay?” Max asks as he starts pumping his hand shallowly, thumb swiping at the wetness she's dripping everywhere, pressing down on her clit. She nods her head and he smiles, pleased with himself, licks down into her for a moment like he can't help but taste.

The skilled rocking of his hand threatens to undo her, warm and solid and rough, fingers moving to curl up against the front of her walls as he draws back out, flexing back outwards when he reaches in deep, fighting the clench of her muscles to spread her open. Every movement seems to be setting sparks off down the length of her spine, but there's more coming that she wants desperately.

“Do it,” she says once she's sure the desire for more has overcome the pleasure she's getting from this, hand gripping the bedsheet below her in anticipation, flexing her hips up into him despite her efforts to keep still.

“Max, please, I need-” Furiosa breaks off with a breathy gasp when she feels him finally fold his spit-slicked thumb in with the rest of his fingers, starts pressing his entire hand into her cunt.

It's a struggle to open around the widest part of his palm, almost enough for the stretch to turn bright and sharp with pain as her body can't decide whether to clamp down and keep him out, or draw his hand in further. Furiosa has never yet backed down from a fight and so she bucks against him, wraps both legs securely around his torso for leverage to bring him inside where she wants him, coaxes her muscles to relax and bear down around the girth. Max lowers his mouth back to her clit, circles around it with his tongue as he slowly eases his hand back-and-forth, stretching her just a little more open with every movement.

Their rhythms build in counterpoint until with a sudden spasm she lets go, lets him in, his hand slipping in up to the wrist in one smooth rush.

Furiosa cries out at the feeling and thinks she comes, when it happens- she's too busy focusing on how full she suddenly is, how incredible it feels to be open so far, stretched tight around him. There are sparks across her vision as she makes breathless sounds that she couldn't stop if she tried, trying to adjust to the warm bony weight of his hand, pulling her apart exactly as she asked for.

“Furi,” Max says reverently, and when she gets her eyes open again Furiosa looks down to see him staring at where his hand disappears into her, where she's splayed soft and intimate around the scarred skin of his arm. He's the one who whines, as he flexes his hand just slightly, fingertips twitching out in small searching movements against her walls like he can't help but feel how deep he is, how far inside her he's gone.

Furiosa clenches down around his hand, reveling in the stretch of it, her own hand spasmodically gripping at the sheets as she adjusts, feeling filled and warm and indescribably powerful, amazed and pleased that her body has once again overcome the challenge set before it.

“Move,” she encourages, and he pulls back a fraction, only for her to shake her head. “No, there. Rotate your wrist.”

It takes him a moment to pick up what it is she's asking, or perhaps he's working out how best to move. But soon enough Max starts circling his hand inside her, twisting in place so she can feel the thick base of his thumb, the knobs of his knuckles, those clever searching fingers rubbing against different areas of her cunt as he moves.

“You're so,” he says raggedly, voice thick and rough to match his fingers, “Letting me in. So good, Furiosa.”

Furiosa moans brokenly in response, can't help but buck her hips up against where he's holding her with her free hand. He sucks at her clit suddenly, harshly, and she explodes into an orgasm that takes her by surprise, contracting down around the stretch of his hand until he can't move it at all anymore, caught by her spasming muscles.

She sucks in a deep gasping breath, digs the heel of a foot into his back as she rides the aftershocks, clenching and relaxing and clenching again, so full but not quite at her limit.

“Make a fist,” Furiosa says as soon as she has the air, thrills running down her spine at the thought of not just the extra stretch but how she's seen him use his fists, how it's such a violent thing to be held safe inside of herself. She shudders to think about it, what things he's done with those fists, with the very same hand already lodged heavy inside of her.

Max hums and laps at her, tongue stroking down where his skin meets the stretched rim of her cunt, delaying. She lets him have a moment, lets herself writhe up into the soft warm drag of his mouth against the pinning force of his hand, and then repeats the order.

“Make a fist, Max,” she says.

He curls his fingers down, slow but steady, until his hand feels massive and firm and inescapably solid inside of her, knuckles jutting harshly out from the meat of his palm, wrist flexing with the tension he's putting in.

Furiosa can't help but wail at the feeling, the bright warm stretch that's almost too much, clenches and bucks her hips and doesn't even feel her orgasm build until it's crashing over her with a scrape of knuckles as Max moves his hand just a little, like he couldn't help it. She can feel herself gushing down around him as she comes, wetness dripping down his wrist, hears Max make a low strangled noise of his own.

“Move,” she commands, out of breath while she's still shaking from the feeling of how big and heavy his fist is inside her cunt, the unrelenting pressure of it against her g-spot, against all the areas that light up when she has something inside her. “Fuck me, do it.”

He doesn't hesitate this time, starts rocking his hand slowly back and forth by millimeters, unable or unwilling to move faster, to put real force behind it. He could do serious damage like this and Furiosa is equally mesmerized by the feeling of his hand itself as she is in watching the muscles in his arm flex as he instead keeps himself so carefully controlled for her, the powerful violent force of him turned to such a delicate task.

Max draws back enough that the thick meaty part of his hand stretches at her opening almost enough to escape, then sinks back in until he's tapping her cervix, wrist subsumed by her. Draws back to repeat the motion, again and again as Furiosa moans and writhes and basks in the feeling.

He rubs his left hand along the skin of her belly, eyes fixed on where it feels as if the shape of his fist should be visible through her flesh, presses down with gentle pressure just as his hand inside her rocks in deep.

It is beyond too much, feeling him from both sides, how full of him she is, how warm and strong and focused he is. Furiosa comes again, her own hand reaching down to take hold of his free one, thinks distantly that her eyes might be filling with tears for how good it feels, how _much_ it feels.

She half expects Max to let up but he doesn't, rocks and twists his fist inside her in small, steady motions while he once again sucks and licks and presses at her clit with his terrible wonderful mouth, until she's rolling through another high and then another, until she's shaking and sobbing and calling out his name because there isn't anything else she can do against the roar of sensation carrying her away.

Finally, when it starts hurting beyond the achy stretch she sought out, when she's sure there's no more pleasure to be gained from it, Furiosa tugs at his hair to dislodge him.

“Enough,” she tells him, voice hoarse and shaky and wet from tears, legs falling away from their clasp around his torso to splay limply on the mattress. He stops moving at once, mouth sliding away with a slick noise and free hand no longer rubbing over the skin of her belly, pupils blown wide with lust and awe when his eyes meet hers.

Max slowly, carefully unfurls his hand until it's squeezed down as small as he can make it and with a gentle tug slips it out. Furiosa's too worn out to even help bear down, feels drained and empty and wrecked when he's no longer inside her.

“You're...” Max says, blinks groggily and shakes his head as he shifts so he's kneeling between her legs instead of resting on his belly with hips twitching into the mattress. He brings his hand to his mouth and licks the taste of her off his fingers, the skin wrinkled from so much wetness, eyes sliding shut as he all but groans.

His left hand moves off her skin to scrabble at the lacing of his leathers where his cock strains hard and undoubtedly aching, clumsy in his haste, and Furiosa squirms until she's mostly upright, reaches down once his erection is free to stop him from stroking himself off.

“You should fuck me,” she says, voice somewhat more composed than it had been, swipes a finger to smear the slick precome around the head of his cock, teasing at the sensitive skin of his foreskin.

Max's eyes snap open, dart between her face to her cunt to his cock, lips going a little slack around the fingers he was still tasting. The hand that had just been inside her leaves his mouth with a slick little _pop_ and he nods, swallows heavily and asks, “Sure?”

Furiosa wouldn't have made the offer if she wasn't sure she wanted it, even as worn out and open as she feels. Instead of answering she reaches out, hooks her arms around his neck to bring them closer together, presses their lips together and licks the traces of herself out of his mouth.

Max nods when she draws back with a significant look, wraps one of those strong arms of his around her ribcage to support her and uses the other to hitch her hips in line with his, guides his cock inside her cunt.

She's so fucked out from his fist that she makes no move to squeeze down against him, just lets him rest inside where she's soft and plush and tired. Furiosa wraps her legs around his waist to join the arms securely around his neck and lets him hold her up as he starts moving, slow at first in deference to her aches but soon thrusting faster, like he can't help it.

It hurts a bit, having something pumping into her cunt like this when she's so worn out and already well on her way to being achingly sore, but Furiosa cants her hips into it because she wants it, knows she's not going to come again and loves it anyway.

Max mouths at the curve of her neck, sucking bruises into the skin and groaning out noises that might be nonsense or might be the fragments of words. The weighted press of his body bears her back down to the mattress until he's covering her, warm and solid and safe, cock plunging hard and thick inside of her. He sighs out her name and stills, every muscle in his body tense and straining as she feels his cock twitch and pulse in orgasm, then collapses heavily against her as if his strings have been cut.

Furiosa pets the hair over the back of his head, shifts a little under the bulk of his body just to feel how solid he is, sighs contentedly when he presses a kiss to the skin just under her ear.

“It'll be your turn next,” she tells him, and Max shivers and whines against her, hips twitching forward with one last aftershock.

He mutters something against her skin that doesn't at all sound like an objection, and Furiosa smiles to herself because she likes his hands, and he's pretty fond of hers as well.


End file.
